Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Collapse of a Spineless Happiness




This is the saddest hour
isn’t it?
Long drawn out minutes marked
by bleeding hands moving on the face
of a round reality...
Ashes are rising from the playground of
yesterday’s laughter; from the
stilled swings that sit in backyard sorrow,
under trees that house no song.

Flames and circles consume seconds of lost trust.
Murdered by the scorching of their lives lies
Where the strings of too much joy and promise
stretched to breaking,
And preoccupied parents like puppeteers let go
allowing the collapse of a spineless happiness
no more real than a puppets smile...
The broken face
The smashed hands
The shattered hours
and their left over ashes
from the life they burned; the
remains of a child’s innocense.

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